Fifty-Four
by The Silent Following Potato
Summary: How far away has Lecter gone? Or, rather, how close has he stayed... Please R&R! Updated: FINISHED! Wheeeeee... ^.^
1. Chapter One

1  
  
Clarice Starling awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of silence. It had been raining for about four days straight, and she'd grown accustomed to the sound... lulling, relaxing, soothing on nerves that had, admittedly, been put through a gauntlet of late. So when the rain stopped, so did Clarice's relaxation.  
  
What followed was a tense, almost ridiculous pacing of her small kitchen, with a cold beer in one hand and His case file in the other. Trying to find that one little thing that might lead her back to him, the clue that everyone else had missed.  
  
The time was about a month since Paul Krendler had met his untimely death. About a week since they'd given back her title of 'Special Agent'. Four days since they'd put her back on the one case that would ensure that she not fall from grace again... if she made progress with it.  
  
But standing there feeling the chill of the kitchen tiles under her feet, she didn't find any likeliness in that happening. The case file captured the facts, and only the facts. His age, his height, his last known weight. The fact that he was now missing a thumb from one hand, chopped off so that he could free himself from the handcuffs she'd slapped on him.  
  
"He doesn't operate on goddamn facts," Clarice announced to herself, her voice startlingly loud after the near complete silence of her home. Her voice, however, was nothing compared to the crash of the folder against the floor, as she flung it to the side of the room.  
  
Back in her bedroom she curled up with her drink, trying to figure out... well, anything. Just from what she knew. Not what the facts said, but what she knew. He'd gone to Barney, she knew that for certain. One fact that was helpful. The nurse had called her ten days ago to say the good doctor had just left his house, which had greatly influenced the decision to put her back on her case, and give her back her Special title.  
  
"He went to Barney. It makes sense. He'd go to a nurse that he felt he could trust, to get his hand patched up. But after that, where the hell would he go?" she muttered, pressing the cold can against her forehead to keep her awake. "He might go back to Italy. Probably not Florence, that would be too risky, and Dr. Lecter wouldn't want to get caught again. France, perhaps. Maybe he decided to go to the moon, for all I know. He could probably manage it. Right?"  
  
It was, perhaps, that last word posed as a question that made her realize how very empty the room was that she was speaking to. All alone and talking to herself, trusty alcoholic beverage in hand.  
  
"Oh God, Starling," she said to herself with a low sigh. "Next thing you know you're going to start taking orders from Elvis."  
  
*********  
  
Going to the office the next day was nearly unbearable. The office. That was a laugh. They'd put her back into the basement where she'd been before, dim lighting and all. It was always faintly unsettling to walk into the grand building, with the knowledge that she was going straight to the bottom... unlike all the others going all the way up.  
  
She knew that it was more convenient for her, to have that much space to spread out. All her old stuff was still there, exactly as she'd left it. But it was still another reminder that she was different, and that they resented her for it.  
  
Clarice gave a sharp shake of her head as that thought entered it, a thought spoken in the silken tones of the man she was currently hunting. Dr. Lecter. That was how he'd put it too.  
  
"I need a vacation," she murmured, with a sigh. There she went again, talking to herself. If this was going to start becoming a habit, she was in trouble indeed.  
  
The elevator door opened to reveal her home away from home, dark and cluttered with Lecter memorabilia. Her chair sat in the middle of it all, surrounded on three sides by desks. She sat. She started. Another day of pointless searching.  
  
It would do about as much good for a mouse to start hunting a cat.  
  
*********  
  
  
  
Barney was in the process of cleaning out the room that Lecter had been staying in while he was healing up. The F.B.I. had cleaned it out of everything of value, anything that might even be remotely connected to the doctor, and he'd finally gotten permission to do away with what little was left that they didn't seem to need. That's how he found it.  
  
It was obscure enough a place for it that Barney wasn't surprised that the forensics experts didn't find it. It was taped with electricians tape to the bottom of the trash can, which was black. It blended in enough that at first glance you wouldn't notice that anything was there, but when Barney had it turned upside down to shake its contents out, he noticed it.  
  
Pulling back the tape revealed a key. A regular silver colored house key, without any readily distinguishable features. Barney may have just put it aside without another thought, if it weren't for the fact that it also had a tag on it. A tag that read only:  
  
Clarice - You're close. Number Fifty-Four.  
  
A tag written in Dr. Lecter's familiarly elegant handwriting. H.  
  
Barney looked at this for a minute, pondering how much it might get him on eBay or a similar site. Probably at least a thousand, for something written in the doctor's own hand, and addressed to the F.B.I.'s angel of death.  
  
But with a sigh he turned to rifle through some papers on the table, to find the piece of paper that Agent Starling had written her number on, in case he thought of something he wanted to tell her. He had, after all, promised.  
  
**********  
  
Clarice had been listening, for the thousandth time, to the Lecter tapes to try and find something else, some clue as to where he may like to go. When the phone starting ringing in her dim little office, it at first didn't register in her mind just what it was... and when it did, she fairly lunged for the phone as she ripped off her headphones.  
  
"Special Agent Starling, here."  
  
"Special Agent Starling? This is Barney. I have something for you."  
  
"What might that be, Barney?"  
  
"Well, I say I have something for you. More accurately, he left something for you."  
  
There was a long pause after he spoke those words. He. He left her something. Somehow she wasn't surprised to find that out, the doctor was one to leave clues, to taunt and tease with hints as to where he might be without ever giving just enough to...  
  
"Agent Starling?"  
  
"I'll be right there, Barney."  
  
*********  
  
"You're close, number fifty-four."  
  
Clarice was talking to herself again, and this time she didn't care a whit about it. She was home, it was night, the key was warmed by her constant touch, and she was cooled by the breeze coming in her opened window.  
  
"Number fifty-four. Fifty-four. Fifty-four what, Dr. Lecter?"  
  
When she'd first received the clue from Barney's hands, she'd been so thrilled. Surely this was going to be her breakthrough, her window into the doctor's mind... and what it actually was was a meaningless saying. Unlike him. Very unlike him, to say something that didn't at least somewhat intrigue or hint at the mind what the answer could be.  
  
"Fifty-four."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Damnit."  
  
**********  
  
He could hear her through the walls. Though the walls were thin, that still indicated she couldn't have been watching her voice too carefully, or else he'd only be able to get a murmur. But he could hear her debating to herself in that accent of hers, just what his little clue might mean.  
  
Lecter knew that he hadn't given enough information to get her anywhere, but that was his purpose. His plan. After all, a game of cat and mouse was no fun at all if the mouse was ensnared too quickly.  
  
He laid back on his bed comfortably, and took a sip of his wine. Not as expensive as he would have liked, but they probably still had watches on the finer things in life, and he had to be careful.  
  
He didn't want the cat to get ensnared at all.  
  
Her voice raised again, repeating the clue to herself on the other side of the wall, trying one last time to decipher it.  
  
Hannibal just smiled in the darkness of his room.  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: And I begin again! I want to thank, right off the bat here, Plastic Female Plaything for being ever so supportive, and inspirational, and getting me hooked on fanfics in the first place. There. I hope that people will enjoy this as much as they seemed to like the last one. I'm already having fun myself. 


	2. Chaper Two

2  
  
"There has got, got to be something that you can do. You can't be telling me that there's absolutely no possible way to trace this key's origins."  
  
It had already been a long morning, and it was scarcely ten o'clock. The rest of the day did not appear to be shaping up much better. The key, the only clue they had, was a dead end, and the note was just as useless.  
  
All they'd managed to get was that it was indeed from the good doctor.  
  
Clarice had been on the phone with just about every forensics expert she could find, and they all told her the exact same thing. Sorry, no dice. Some of them phrased it differently, but they all got that message across... it was a hopeless cause, trying to trace a single silver key without any idea as to what it could belong to.  
  
Finally her last phone call was finished, useless as the rest, and she just leaned back in her chair to try and collect her thoughts. Her reason. Surely, if nothing else, her reason could do something with this hopeless case.  
  
No inspiration came. Just the mail.  
  
"Hey Danny," Starling murmured, stretching as the young man pushed the mail cart through the curtain covering her door. "What do you have for me?"  
  
"Nothin' much Agent Starling. Looks like the results from forensics on the note, a few random letters, and some guy gave me this package to give to you. Ran into him into the hallway, jammed it into my hand. Guess he was in some sort of a hurry."  
  
Danny had barely gotten through his second sentence before Clarice sat up and snatched the package from his hand. "Thanks Danny, you can go now." She didn't even notice as he walked out, looking quite indignant at her dismissal of him.  
  
The package looked innocuous enough, but she had a distinct feeling of what she'd find inside. Gloves were donned, and a knife claimed to do the work of opening it... and she couldn't help but think of how it all began last time. With a package, enclosing a letter.  
  
Just like this letter.  
  
With the package opened the smaller envelope slide out into her gloved hand, with her name written across the front in reddish ink. She hoped it was ink. She turned it over, and it had the familiar wax seal holding down the flap, which she easily dislodged with a flick of her knife.  
  
The letter enclosed was short, only one page.  
  
Dear Clarice,  
  
You are, I've observed, quite confused about the note that I left you. I'm sorry I was not more clear as to its meaning, but it would be no fun at all if you figured it out too quickly.  
  
I'm going to give you another hint, which I think is more than generous of me, as what I've already given you is more than enough to find me, if you were paying enough attention. But, as it doesn't seem to be enough, I'm going to send you on a little treasure hunt.  
  
Be sure to wear socks, Clarice, so you can tuck in your trousers.  
  
Yours truly,  
  
Hannibal Lecter M.D.  
  
Clarice read the letter twice before folding it back up, and grabbing at the phone. This was even worse than they had expected. "Hello? Yes... no sir, I know you're busy... no... well, sir, I just thought you'd like to know that Hannibal Lecter, number one on the ten most wanted list, just waltzed through the F.B.I. building and left me note. Yes. This F.B.I. building. Yes, sir. Yes, I'm sure it was he; he wouldn't send a messenger boy. Damn indeed."  
  
**********  
  
Fifteen minutes later she was in meeting with her superiors. They were all, one by one, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the letter. A meaning which she, all by her little old self, had figured out.  
  
"Excuse me, sirs," Starling voiced, trying to break into the intense chatter emanating from all around her.  
  
"Just be quiet, Starling, and think."  
  
"I did sir, and I think..."  
  
"Why would she need to tuck in her trousers, Stan? Do you suppose he wants her to go wading?"  
  
"What the hell does wading have to do with it, Joe?"  
  
"Why are we bothering, he's just a psychopath anyway."  
  
Clarice just listened to all the nonsense they were spouting for another ten minutes, trying to keep her calm, and thereby keep in their good graces. But it wasn't worth it, particularly when they started debating the idea that it was just nonsense. She said one word, not quite yelling but loud enough that they could not brush it away.  
  
"Rats!"  
  
Special Agent Donnor turned to her with his eyebrows raised. "Where, Special Agent Starling?"  
  
"No. Rats. That's the reason for tucking in my trousers, rats. To be specific, the rats in Raspail's old garage. That's what the owner told me to do when I first went to investigate it. I don't know how Dr. Lecter would have found that out, I didn't tell him, but it's what it means."  
  
There was dead silence surrounding the table when this proclamation was finished. The first to speak up was, again, Special Agent Donnor, with his expression the mirror of a father placating a child. "What makes you so certain, Agent Starling?"  
  
"Special Agent Starling, Special Agent Donnor, and I'm so sure because I've encountered this man before in different circumstances. I don't know how he'd have known what the old man told me at the garage, but I don't doubt that he could have found it out. There's reason behind everything he does. He'd never say he was going to give me a hint, and give me only nonsense."  
  
"You put an awful lot of trust in a madman, Special Agent Starling."  
  
"Trust? I suppose. I trust him the same way you'd trust a snake to strike when you pissed it off."  
  
That seemed to satisfy all parties as being a sensible response, and the head of the little meeting group made his decision. "All right, Starling, you can go to this garage. Take whatever men you want with you."  
  
She replied with, "Thank you sir, but I'd prefer to go alone."  
  
This wasn't at all pleasing, that much was obvious in the creases of the man's forehead. But he accepted it without trying to talk her out of it, which was the first time someone had done that since... perhaps since her father died. "Very well. But we expect to be kept updated at all times. You will let someone know before you enter the garage, and when you come out. If the time spent inside seems overly much, someone will be dispatched to come and make sure that you're all right. Understood?"  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Dismissed."  
  
**********  
  
Lecter knew that he'd taken quite a risk in entering the F.B.I. building, not even disguised beyond an overcoat and a hat. But that way he had been able to catch a glimpse of dear Clarice before leaving to set up the rest of the game they were now going to play together. She was still every bit as... vibrant as he remembered her to be. It was always a pleasure to see her again, even if he was not close enough to breathe her in, and savor every part of her in his senses. It was enough.  
  
It had taken him a while to figure out exactly what sort of game they were going to play, but he knew that no matter what he chose, they were going to have a lot of fun.  
  
The reason he'd picked a treasure hunt was for sentimental reasons, really. He wanted to take her on a tour of her past, make her remember all the details and sensations that she'd forgotten as the years flew by. A sort of montage of memories to relive. Raspail's garage would be the first, and he hoped she'd discover how he knew what the caretaker had told her, about the rats. It would make it considerably more... fun.  
  
**********  
  
Clarice could remember the garage from those years long past, a dark and dank place. She didn't want to return to it, and had a twist in her stomach from knowing that she must... but there was also the slight thrill of knowing that progress was being made. That she was a step closer to finding the man who had dominated her thoughts for so many years.  
  
"Perhaps I'll finally put him where he belongs, back behind the glass," she murmured to herself... and then promptly brushed the thought away, as it didn't quite taste right on her tongue... like sucking on a greasy coin.  
  
A quick check over her person showed that she had everything she needed with her. She had her socks, just ready to be tucked into, a small knife in an ankle strap, and her gun strapped securely to her side.  
  
But one look at her face in the mirror showed how very much she wasn't ready.  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: Yay! I have people to thank! Steel, chameleon, DianaLecter (wow!), Abbadon the Bad One, Nanci (yay!), and luna, thank you all for reviewing. It's for you all that I write. 


	3. Chapter Three

3  
  
It was somehow shocking, how very much the same the garage looked. Obviously there was the difference that it was under the glow of broad daylight, but beyond that... it was the same. The door was still slightly bent upwards, from where she had jammed her carjack beneath, in order to get it to open on its rusty tracks.  
  
Clarice sighed from where she sat in her car, and briefly considered just leaving and telling them she hadn't found anything. But... she knew she couldn't, and so swung open the door to allow her to stand, pant-legs already tucked securely into her socks. Not, perhaps, the most sophisticated look, but the protection from the rats more than made up for looking like an imbecile.  
  
She'd already gotten the key from the caretaker, a different one this time. The man had been replaced by a red-haired woman, who was surrounded by such a thick cloud of cigarette smoke it was impossible to tell what else she looked like. She'd sent Starling on alone to the garage, claiming to be far too busy to spare a moment to escort her... just in case.  
  
Now, as Clarice slowly turned the key in the padlock keeping the cluttered room secure, she wished that she had brought someone along. Anyone. The redheaded chain smoker, another agent, even the drunken slob that lived in the apartment next to her in her building.  
  
The door rolled up nice and smoothly this time. It had been well oiled in recent history, and glided up into the ceiling with nary a sound, revealing the same cobwebbed and dusty room from her memory.  
  
Obviously it wasn't the same, it couldn't be the same. The F.B.I. had tramped through it so much after her discovery of Raspail's head that things had been shifted, moved and sorted through until nothing was where it had been. However, enough time had passed since then that the general ambience, the feeling of abandonment, it all came back acutely.  
  
Snapping on her flashlight didn't help much, it was just a narrow beam of light that pronounced, rather than dissolved, the surrounding darkness. All the dust particles in the air reflected it back at her, until she almost thought she could see better with no light at all.  
  
"Where do I need to start, Dr. Lecter?" she murmured, as she slowly walks further through the cluttered pathways, junk in piles on either side of her. Then she saw it.  
  
The car.  
  
Of course the car. It had been brought back to this garage at the family's request, once the Jame Gumb case had been successfully solved. It was where it had all began, her career, her odd relationship with Dr. Lecter. Now once again she was reduced the same state of uncertainty that she'd felt that day, as though she'd lost all the years of experience she'd had since then.  
  
The driver's side door was unlocked, but stiff. It had gone a long time without being opened. A first sweep of her narrow flashlight beam around the front area of the car revealed nothing, and she felt sure that she was going to have to search the back... probably the last thing in the world she wanted to do. But then her light gleamed off of something, in the ignition. The keys, possibly, but she leaned in to take a closer look.  
  
Not keys. A tie pin. A tie pin, jammed carefully into the ignition, a simple silver square with the imprint of a boat in the middle. It would seem strange, a tie pin in the ignition of a car, but not sinister... except Clarice recognized it. She'd seen it before.  
  
She'd seen it in Paul Krendler's tie.  
  
Clarice reached out to pull the pin from where it had been lodged, and her finger brushed against a piece of paper taped just beneath the ignition. A note, as she'd expected to find, but not nearly as helpful as she had hoped.  
  
Clarice,  
  
Having fun? Don't forget, #54.  
  
Tick-tock,  
  
H.  
  
*********  
  
The second she stepped out of the garage she turned on her cellular phone and dialed Pearsall's number, as she'd been required to do. He answered with an expectant "Yes?"  
  
"Hello, sir. This is Special Agent Starling."  
  
She must have sounded dejected, because the man's next comment caught her completely by surprise. "No luck, Starling? Don't worry about it, we didn't expect you'd find anything. Just thought we'd oblige you while we figured out what to do."  
  
Starling was silent for a minute, staring at the silver pin in her hand. "No luck, sir? Just the opposite," she finally spoke. "He left me another clue, sir, and he may have implied that there's a deadline on this investigation."  
  
"Pardon me, Starling?"  
  
"A deadline. He signed off with 'tick-tock'. We may only have a limited period of time to find him, Mr. Pearsall. I think I ought to get started on the next clue right away."  
  
"What is the... ah... 'clue', then, Agent?"  
  
"A tie pin, sir."  
  
"A tie pin."  
  
"Paul Krendler's tie pin, to be exact. I think he wants me to go to the lake house," she elaborated, trying not to notice how her heart started beating faster with the mere mention of that place from her past.  
  
There was a dead silence on the other end of the line for several moments, before Pearsall replied. "Already. I'm giving you authorization to move on the house tomorrow morning. Good job, Agent Starling."  
  
"I think it would be better if I moved on it now."  
  
"Agent, I'm giving you a direct order here. You will not move on the house until tomorrow, understood?"  
  
She sighed. "Understood, Mr. Pearsall."  
  
Just before hanging up, he remembered one last thing he wanted to say. "Oh, and Agent Starling?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I thought you might be interested to know, the old caretaker of that storage facility that you're at right now, the one that told you to tuck in your pants... he turned up missing about two months after Lecter escaped."  
  
Ah. That's how Lecter knew. "Thank you sir."  
  
**********  
  
Starling sat in her car with Lecter's file spread out over her knees, rereading all the known 'facts', while she waited for the numbers on her watch to turn to 12:00 AM. She had sworn to wait until tomorrow to move on the house, so she would... technically. The numbers were glowing at 11:59, and she decided to start walking towards the house. It would surely take her at least a minute to get there.  
  
Just as she snapped the folder shut her eyes fell on Dr. Lecter's kill count. She paused for a minute... and then slowly scratched out the current number and wrote a new one in over it.  
  
Eighteen. That they knew about, anyway, though he had undoubtedly killed more. Many many more.  
  
Starling swallowed hard, then slid from her car to walk up to the lake house. It was just as she remembered it, just as it had been on that night, dark. Of course, there were no fireworks... and the people that had bought it after Krendler's death had painted the trim a dreadful shade of yellow, but it still brought back the feelings. The memories. They hit her hard in the stomach, nearly a physical force that succeeded in making her stumble.  
  
"I don't think I can do this," she whispered beneath her breath, but her feet carried her faithfully closer regardless of her doubts.  
  
She reached the door all too fast, it seems, though a glance at her watch revealed that it was five past midnight. She knew the new owners of the house weren't there, that they only used it only on vacation, but still was not very surprised to find the front door unlocked.  
  
Dr. Lecter would have left it open, for her convenience.  
  
Then there were the stairs... the hallways, all of it painfully familiar. Enough so that she felt a red hot flash of pain in the scar crossing her shoulder, as though it were still as fresh as it had been then. She made her way down the hall, into the room she knew would be next. The dining room. Though there was a different table, it was set up the same... and the same grandfather clock ticked away against the wall.  
  
She didn't dwell long there, the image of Paul Krendler was too burned into her mind, and she escaped into the kitchen.  
  
Some escape.  
  
There the memories, though of a different nature, were just as intense. Just as real. The agony as he slammed her back into the refrigerator, her heart beating so fast as he posed his question, 'Would you every say to me... stop?' The ache in her as he leaned closer, and...  
  
A sudden noise broke her thought process. Though it scared her half out of her wits, it was still a welcome distraction from those memories that could lead to nothing but trouble. It took a moment to identify the sound, it was a cell phone. Ringing at top volume. She groped automatically at her pocket, but her own phone had been left behind in the car... and her mind's eye flashed to the note that he'd left her with the tie pin.  
  
'Tick-tock'.  
  
The grandfather clock.  
  
Clarice didn't think further than that, but turned and dashed back through the doorway. She knocked over a chair and severely scraped up her leg in the process, but she managed to get to the grandfather clock and throw open the glass door in front, where the pendulum swung back and forth... and a phone was sitting at the bottom.  
  
She answered it before the next ring was through, and spoke not a word.  
  
She didn't have to.  
  
He spoke first.  
  
"Well hello, Clarice."  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: Thank you to SJ, chameleon, Steel, DianaLecter, Nanci, and Raven the Dark Angel for reviewing! I love you all. You're darling to be keeping up with my story like this, it brings me... well, further obsession ^.- But joy, too! And that's just as important. 


	4. Chapter Four

4  
  
"Hello, Dr. Lecter," Clarice listened to her own voice speak with an inward sort of incredulity. She had no recollection of commanding her voice to speak, or thinking of what words would come from her lips. The words just came, automatically. Like breathing.  
  
"You're doing very well, Clarice. I knew you would figure out our little game, though I was worried that you wouldn't figure it out so quickly. Bravo, Agent Starling," he spoke with a smile evident in his voice, with the same tones and inflections that she had memorized from hours of listening to tapes of him speaking. Somehow the sound of it rang in her head, made her dizzy, and she found herself slowly sinking to sit on the floor before the great clock.  
  
"What's the game this time doctor?" she asked, this time on purpose... and was somewhat dismayed to find that her voice had melted into a mere whisper, though she had intended it to sound forceful. "Why are you doing this?"  
  
"It doesn't make much sense, does it? You can't figure out why I'm back, why I haven't gone to live the rest of my life in general anonymity... or at least avoid putting myself back into the spotlight with you. It's not a very sound career move, now is it?"  
  
The quick smooth response he offered made her feel, yet again, like every move she made and every word out of her mouth was anticipated. It was unsettling, feeling as though there was nothing she could do that would surprise him... but more than that, it made her angry. "I'm getting tired of your games. I asked you a question, I'd appreciate an answer Dr. Lecter. Why are you doing this?"  
  
"Now, now, patience is a virtue. Surely you've learned that in the FBI, waiting for the table scraps they throw you from time to time. We mustn't spoil the game too soon, that would ruin the entire purpose."  
  
"And what is that?" she asked, voice lowering to a whisper as her fingers tightened around the cell phone at that last taunt.  
  
"To open your eyes, Clarice. Go down to the dock."  
  
Then he was gone. Gone before she had a chance to respond. She knew the second he hung up, the sound on the other end was infinitely more empty even than his silences. She felt as though she was moving through a sort of fog as she pressed the button to turn off the phone, knowing that he wouldn't call again.  
  
'And what is that?'  
  
'To open your eyes...'  
  
"But why, damnit?" she murmured to herself, as she slowly rubbed the tips of her fingers across her closed eyelids.  
  
**********  
  
The dock. She remembered the dock as well as any other part of that evening, memory heightened by the adrenaline that had still been coursing through her veins at that time, after narrowly avoiding losing her hand.  
  
Perhaps most vividly etched into her mind were those fireworks, those great explosions celebrating the day of freedom, while Dr. Lecter went off to who knows where, celebrating the freedom that he himself managed to keep for another day.  
  
As Clarice walked down towards the planks of wood leading out onto the lake, she was surprised to find that she felt even more exposed now than she had then, when she was clothed in only that slip of an evening gown. Despite the jeans she wore, the jacket, she felt as though she were naked, trapped under watchful eyes, illuminated under the moonlight as much as she would be in broad daylight.  
  
It was not a pleasant sensation.  
  
"What are you planning, Dr. Lecter?" she asked of the night... and felt instantly ridiculous as she paused to see if an answer would come back at her, from the shadows beneath the trees, or hidden in the boat.  
  
The boat.  
  
It wasn't the same one that had been there before, but basically the same style - she knew too little about boats to be able to cite the differences, and she didn't dwell on it. Understandably. Her mind was more seriously occupied, not knowing what she might find down here.  
  
So far this little walk down memory lane had not been particularly pleasant for her.  
  
She found what it was he wanted her to find at the end of the dock. She'd never actually been down there before, and she felt certain that the dock was going to collapse beneath her at any second - but it held firm as she bent down to pick the little thing up.  
  
She was surprised that she could still feel anger towards Dr. Lecter after all that he'd put her through. She thought that by the she'd be immune to his mental tricks, and the little games he seemed to delight in tormenting her with.  
  
What Clarice had found at the end of the dock, what she held in her hands, was a fluffy little stuffed lamb.  
  
Its mouth had been sewn shut.  
  
**********  
  
The drive home from Krendler's old home was a blur. The grip that Starling had on the steering wheel of her car was nothing less than a death grip; her knuckles were white the entire way home, and a jaw was clenched. Occasionally she felt the strange rage in her belly begin to fade, but it would flare up again with only a glance to the forlorn stuffed animal sitting on the passenger's seat, those red glass eyes laughing at her out of the darkness.  
  
The depth of her anger was something that she couldn't quite understand. She had reason to be mad, of course.  
  
After all this treasure hunt, it had led to a dead end. Nothing. The lamb was no clue.  
  
Once again, he brought up that most tender are of her past... ground it into her face until there was nothing she could do but dwell on it, on it and the fact that he, of all the people in the world, was the only person she'd ever confided this past in.  
  
But still, the degree of her fury at the good doctor seemed excessive. Frightening even.  
  
She didn't realize that she was crying until she squealed into the parking lot outside of her apartment building, and it only made the red-hot anger well up inside her again. Why should she cry? Why should -he-, of all people, be able to make her cry.  
  
She finally attributed it to how tired she was, snatched up the little toy lamb, and silently stormed her way into the building.  
  
The elevator was broken. That left five flights of stairs for her to go up. This did not improve her mood. Endless stairs, weary eyes, and a stuffed lamb with neat little stitches across its mouth. And her bed was five floors above her. She started walking, and narrowly resisted the temptation to throw the lamb in the convenient trash can beside the door.  
  
Four floors.  
  
Three floors, with a few minutes spent in obligatory conversation with the old woman who lived on that level.  
  
Two.  
  
One, with a brief holdup as the sleazy man in 421 tried out some of his new pickup lines.  
  
Then she was there, on her floor... then in front of her door. 556.  
  
She was just sticking her key in the lock, and beginning to turn it, that her eyes drifted over. The door next to hers, her neighbor. The number embossed in gold in the wood.  
  
The first five, standing for the floor that they were on.  
  
Then Fifty-Four. 554. 54. It had been there. Right in front of her.  
  
Hannibal Lecter was living in her apartment building, separated from her by no more than a foot of sheetrock and wood, or whatever it was that they used to build the place.  
  
Clarice found that she had stopped blinking, stopped breathing, staring at that shiny number.  
  
It took her a moment to notice the number moving.  
  
Moving as the door swung open.  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: Aiaiaiaiai! Way too long! Way too long! It's been way too long since I've written. I can only hope that you will all forgive me for my tardiness, and we will all keep our fingers crossed that I'm more prompt next time! I got busy. Bad Potato, bad bad bad. My thanks go out to arachniphiliac, Steel (Another loyal fan that will hopefully forgive me, I love you, really!), Satai Nad, Zechs Merquise, Shiva, chameleon, October, and Tourn. Thank you all so very much! It's because of you that I -finally- managed to get back to this! XOXO, and all that. Happy Belated Valentine's Day. 


	5. Chapter Five

5  
  
Clarice didn't even have a chance to think of what she ought to do. Not even an instant in which she could have looked for some kind of a weapon, or done anything that could have prevented her from coming face to face with...  
  
A ten year old Asian boy, with a pair of Harry Potter style spectacles perched on his nose. He peered up with her with a sort of forward inquisitiveness, but he stayed silent. Silent.  
  
As did she, for several minutes, as she tries to compose herself and slow down the racing of her frantic heart. The adrenaline that got pumped into her veins so quickly had tensed her body to prepare it to fight, or flee, and her body now did not quite want to agree with her mind that they were out of danger. She had been so sure, so very sure, that she would soon be face to face with the doctor again. To run into a little boy was a severe disappointment... no, disappointment. That wasn't the right word at all. Surely she meant...  
  
"H'lo." The boy spoke, apparently having decided that she wasn't likely going to attack him. "Are you Clarice?"  
  
"Hello there," Clarice murmured, coming back to herself as that soft voice reached her, and she crouched down slightly to look the boy in the eyes. "Yes, I'm Clarice. What's your name?"  
  
"I'm Gerald. Ev'ryone calls me Gerry. You live o'er there, right?"  
  
Clarice nodded her head mutely, remaining quiet for a moment as a though wiggled its way into her brain. A suspicion. "How did you know my name, Gerry?"  
  
The sweet little boy seemed somewhat surprised at the question, and hesitated for a moment before he answered her question. "He said to look for a pretty lady with red hair. Said to make sure it was Clarice, and that she lived next door. An' I did that."  
  
"Who, who Gerry? Who told you to do that?"  
  
"The man who's been livin' here for th' past coupla weeks. He told me to tell you something."  
  
She took a deep breath, and settled down into a seated position, as though the boys words had come as a physical blow. "All right. What did he say to tell me?"  
  
"Made me memorize it. He said t' say that more than jus' shoes are waiting for you." Gerry seemed quite pleased at having remembered that, and he said it with pride enough to swell his entire chest.  
  
Her complete lack of enthusiasm didn't seem to phase him.  
  
"More than just shoes are waiting for me... where? It's really important that you remember, Gerry, where did he say for me to go?" Clarice asked, having to resist an urge to reach out and grab the young boy by the shoulders. She had to keep her voice level, and calm. She had to find out. Without it, she'd probably never get another chance.  
  
"Didn' say where. I told you what he said to say, word fer word. He said you'd know..." And before the little boy could continue, his mother called from down the hall. Called him home, saying that he needed to stop pestering that dear man in 554, and it was time for lunch. Gerry ran off without another word, without so much as a glance at the woman that he had given this enormous gift to... as well as a burden.  
  
**********  
  
Back in her apartment, Clarice was pacing. She'd developed a circuit. Around the table in the kitchen, through the living room, a loop around the couch, a loop around the armchair, back into the kitchen. With a beer, naturally, clasped in her hand.  
  
"More than just shoes are waiting for me," she whispered, staring at her feet as she turned around the edge of the couch. "And I'd know."  
  
Despite the treasure hunt he'd just sent her on, despite the clue that he'd left her in the form of a little boy, she was nowhere. She had gotten no further on this case than she had before he'd contacted her, he was still anonymous, and she was still clueless.  
  
She stopped in her tracks, and stared at the can clasped in her hand for a long moment, before she changed her course. This time she went through the bedroom, and into the closet, to seek out the only shoes that he could have meant...  
  
Of course. The Gucci shoes, still every bit as elegant and beautiful as when he'd left them for her.  
  
When she'd found them.  
  
In the mall.  
  
In the photo booth.  
  
"Oh shit!" was all she could say, before she spun around to make a dash for the keys.  
  
She had to get there as fast as she possibly could.  
  
Who knew how long he'd wait.  
  
**********  
  
It was noisy, crowded, a swelteringly hot inside that large building. There were several children crying as their harried mothers dragged them through Eddie Bauer, and William Sonoma. People yelling, laughing, enough so that the noise level reached proportions that would make any normal person clap their hands over their ears and just pray that it all be over soon.  
  
It may as well have been silent for all Clarice noticed. From the second she entered she had but one purpose, and that was to find the carousel, and from that find the photo booth. The only reason she noticed anyone was from the fact that they were delaying her from getting where she needed to go.  
  
First a group of tourists somehow got in her way. Then she was momentarily sidetracked by an old friend, who then had the unfortunate experience of dealing with Clarice when she was irritable and in a hurry. But the carousel music was playing close, so very close... the horses were visible, bobbing up and down in their rhythmic dance.  
  
Then there it was. The photo booth. Innocuous, looking just like any other you could find the world over... besides the fact that an 'Out of Order' sign was taped on the curtain, printed in bold type on a piece of bright yellow paper.  
  
It didn't stop her from going right up to it, and forcing it to the side... and then she was left staring with her eyes open wide at the seat.  
  
More precisely, the perfectly empty seat.  
  
"But..." Clarice murmured to herself, letting her eyes roam around the booth to see if anything was out of place. "But surely this is what he meant."  
  
She could feel the disappointment welling in her, but forced it back down. She was not disappointed to not find him. She couldn't be. It would be an utterly irrational way for her to feel, besides the disappointment of missing an opportunity to capture him... yes, that was all it was.  
  
"Think, Starling, think," she continued muttering to herself, quite ignoring the odd looks she was receiving from the people meandering past her. "He's subtle. He's not obvious. What would Hannibal do?"  
  
Her eyes continued to drift. They settled, after several moments, on the bright yellow of the sign pinned to the curtain. Somehow it seemed a little too convenient that the photo booth should just happen to be out of order, just when it was to be the next step in this treasure hunt he's sent her on.  
  
It only took a moment to unpin it, and discover the yellow piece of paper to be an envelope. Somehow she was not surprised. Concealed within was a letter, a single sheet of paper, with words written on it in his familiar hand. Words that were quite enough to make her sit, brow creasing with confusion.  
  
Dear Agent Starling,  
  
When it is made  
  
It disappears;  
  
You cannot see it  
  
But it governs your years.  
  
It can bring joy,  
  
Or leave you in tears.  
  
What is it?  
  
The answer is yours now, Clarice, as is the decision that comes with it. Weigh the odds carefully, consider the pros and cons in your mind, for once that decision is made it cannot be refuted. This is the last, Clarice. Bear that in mind that all games must end. Wednesday comes quickly. Fifty-Four is still the key.  
  
Yours,  
  
Hannibal Lecter M.D.  
  
*********  
  
"Why does he never say anything flat out," Clarice hissed beneath her breath as she reread the letter, once safe in her car, out of view of the eyes of the general public. "When it is made... it disappears. Damn."  
  
Riddles were never her strong point, though she had been passionate about them when she was a little girl. But she was long out of practice, deciphering the meaning, figuring out what the words aren't saying and applying logic to make it come out in a reasonable way... and half the time the answer was so obvious that it just makes you angry that you'd wasted any time on it at all.  
  
Not to mention the fact that it sounded as though her time was running out. It was Monday. Wednesday would come quickly indeed.  
  
"Choice," Clarice spoke aloud, eyeing the paper in her hand with her lips pursed. The answer came abruptly, more quickly than she could have hoped. "A choice. I have to make a choice... Thank you. Thank you, Dr. Lecter, your little riddle was very helpful."  
  
She had to make a choice.  
  
She just didn't know what it was about.  
  
And the number 54 still was not going away.  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: Yeah! I managed to get it out without making you wait for months and months. Yay for me. Thanks go to LadyOfTruths, Satai Nad, Alegretto Emily, chameleon302, Memor Sol Solis, SJ, luna, Lauralye, Hanniballover1181, Nanci, Nikita, Steel, and DarkShadow. Wow! Great feedback. You're all my inspiration to keep going. Well, you and Hannibal both. Equally. ^.^ 


	6. Chapter Six

6  
  
It was already Tuesday. Wednesday was exactly six and a half hours away, Clarice had not slept the whole previous night, and had at last collapsed on her couch with a cold beer in her hand - almost as much to just hold against her forehead than to actually drink.  
  
The remainder of the day before had been spent in contemplation of what the answer to the riddle could possibly mean, what sort of choice she was going to have to make. Of course, while she was thinking about this, she was also standing watch over a team of forensic specialists going over Lecter's room with a fine toothed comb, hoping that he'd slipped up.  
  
She knew that he hadn't. At most they'd find a hair, an eyelash, a fiber from his clothes, maybe a fingerprint or two if they were really lucky. But no way to find him, no way to figure out where he'd gone next. She had a feeling that she had that knowledge, the way to figure out exactly where he was... the way to catch them. Perhaps someone trained in that sort of thing would be able to find out what the answer, a Choice, implied. What the continued reappearance of Fifty-Four meant. There was one problem, the real reason that she was now slumped, exhausted, on her couch... rather than out hunting him down as she would have been with any other criminal.  
  
Special Agent Starling didn't happen to mention the riddle, the letter, or the trip to the mall to her superiors. As far as they knew she had spent the day at the lake house of Paul's, come home, discovered the Asian boy, and called in the report right away. The worst of it was the fact that she wasn't quite sure as to what stopped her from reporting on the riddle. But when she was calling in to give an update... her mouth just stilled when it came time to mention it. She just stopped, and moved on, and still she couldn't quite figure out what had happened.  
  
"I'll call them. But what would I say?" she murmured aloud, holding the cold can against her forehead. "Gee, sorry, just happened to forget to mention the fact that I got some more correspondence from the good doctor. Yeah. He said I have to make a choice, by the way of a rather witty little riddle. Mmhmm. Yup. Just slipped my mind."  
  
Oh yes, that sounded plausible.  
  
Clarice sighed, and drew the piece of paper from where she'd put it on the coffee table. By this point she knew that it was hopeless to get any clues off of it. She'd just get in trouble for not mentioning it earlier... and of everyone out there she was probably just as likely as any other to figure out what he meant. More likely, even, seeing all the past experience she'd had with him.  
  
"And now you're justifying your actions to yourself, Clarie. Things just keep getting better and better," she muttered to herself, scanning the last lines of the letter, trying to flatten out the creases in the page. They'd been there when she first found the letter, precise creases crisscrossing the page... so far she hadn't found any meaning behind them.  
  
Wednesday comes quickly. 54 is still the key.  
  
Something was tickling at the back of her mind, some vague notion... a hunch, perhaps, that was just beginning to be formed in her synapses, and not quite making itself known to her conscious mind. Like that irritating itch when you know someone's name, but can't quite remember. With a low sigh of displeasure she chugged the remains of her beer, then set about folding the letter from the good doctor into the classic paper airplane... like one does with only the most worthless of articles.  
  
It was proving to be very useless indeed.  
  
Strange, the creases in the page were just in the appropriate places for an airplane to be crafted.  
  
This didn't really strike Clarice to its full impact until she'd thrown it, and it was drifting easily across the room and into the kitchen... that's when it hit her. She nearly choked as she launched herself up and off the couch, to get to her computer humming off in the corner of the room.  
  
"Oh God, oh God, oh God..." It became a semi-frantic chant as she logged onto the internet.  
  
She went to the webpage for the nearest airline. Of course it loaded in the most painstaking way, loading each picture pixel by pixel before moving on to the text... and lastly the links.  
  
She did a search for flight 54.  
  
Again she waited, resisting the urge to tell her computer to hurry up. She'd been talking to herself enough as it was, without starting to order about inanimate objects.  
  
There it was. Paris. He was going to Paris, and the clue had been right in front of her nose ever since she got the note the day before. If she'd only figured it out sooner... but now she didn't have much time.  
  
It took only seconds to alert the FBI that America's most wanted criminal was likely going to be flying to see the Eiffel tower within the next seven hours. The flight was a red-eye midnight, scheduled to leave right on the dot at the witching hour. Five hours, twenty minutes. Time was flying by.  
  
Flying away.  
  
Like him.  
  
"I don't know for certain this is what it meant... well, sir, I didn't mention it before because I hadn't gotten it before. I just received it." Oh, bad Clarice, now you're lying. You're not just omitting, you're flat out lying to your boss. Why? "You want me there, sir? But what... No, sir. No, of course I'll be there."  
  
Of course she'd be there, where else would she go? What other thing in the world could possibly be more important than at last capturing the one man that had managed to elude her. It did seem odd that they'd want her there, seeing that the last time he escaped it was in her presence. But... they wanted her. She'd be there. In two hours.  
  
***********  
  
Oh yes. They were completely inconspicuous. Two men standing, browsing in the gift shop, wearing Hawaiian shirts, and a man sitting and reading a newspaper over there... as well as several other equally well hidden agents. And Clarice. She was hidden away better than the rest, since he would recognize her. She had her doubts however, about how well this was going to work... she had the most eerie feeling that he'd know she was there the instant he walked by, that he'd be able to sense her. Somehow. Obviously that was nonsense, but she studiously kept her nose buried in her book, and kept checking to make sure that the black wig that they'd thrown on her was still in place.  
  
A black wig. You'd think that the grand FBI could have come up with something a little more sophisticated than dumping what looked like roadkill on top of her head. At least they'd nixed the idea of dark glasses, after realizing that they would be indoors at night... and that would just be a little too obvious, even for them.  
  
Hidden beneath the poor squished tribble on her head was a headphone, to allow her to communicate with the other officers. Just in case he was spotted by one and not the rest, the other could be alerted to his presence without delay. Then they could move in. They could grab him. Then they could go home, and go to bed, and move on to the next case...  
  
That was what was on her mind, not the book that she was idly flipping through. The next case. Would there be a next case? For her, her entire career was built on Hannibal Lecter. The only reason she really had a career was Hannibal Lecter. When he was caught and put behind the glass again, would there be anything left for her, or would she end up cleaning rooms like her mommy?  
  
"Bad thoughts," she murmured to herself, and tried to settle her thoughts into a more peaceful strain. Trying, in vain, to think of something other than the man they were there to capture.  
  
She managed to focus her thoughts on taking a vacation, for all of five minutes before it happened.  
  
It seemed almost like he just materialized. He had a tendency to do that. Irritated her.  
  
More irritating, however, was the fact that he sent her a little smile and a wave, before melting back into the crowd milling through the corridors. Strange that there'd be such a crowd for such a late flight... just their luck.  
  
"Subject sighted just outside the Round Table Pizza outlet, heading up the corridor towards you Larry. He saw me. Yes, he recognized me, damnit, I told you this wouldn't work."  
  
Then she was on her feet, listening to the others bark orders at each other, as she headed in the direction that she last saw him.  
  
The hunt was on.  
  
But who was the hunter, and who was the prey?  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: Whee! Who indeed? You can never really tell. My thanks this time go to Horserider, Steel, Alegretto Emily, LadyOfTruths, Screaming Lamb, DarkShadow, Hanniballover1181, Satai Nad, chameleon302, AD, ZechsMerquise46, Nanci, shiva, SJ, and zara! You guys rock! Yay for you guys! 


	7. Chapter Seven

7  
  
Clarice felt ill. She was right behind him, only a few feet away, and he never once was getting out of her sight. That might have pleased anyone else, but she knew that the only way she'd have such an easy time of following him would be if he wanted her to give chase. She couldn't quite quell the feeling that she was playing right into his hands, doing exactly what he wanted.  
  
She had the unshakable idea that he was smiling, as he kept up his steady pace away from her.  
  
But there's no escape this time, doctor, Clarice thought to herself, picking up the pace a little. It ends now...  
  
Her thoughts trailed off. She stopped. There was a rather scruffy man apparently laying down across a row of chairs, facing the wall. What stopped her was the fact that he had a headset nearly falling off his head.  
  
Closer inspection proved her initial reaction to be right. It was one of the other agents working with her, unconscious.  
  
Clarice didn't pause to wonder when he'd been attacked, she just took a deep breath and rushed after Hannibal. He had left her sight in the few seconds she took, and that made her go all the more swiftly. He had been so careful up until that point not to go too fast for her, the fact that he'd vanished was unnerving... particularly knowing that he was apparently quite able to tell who was an agent. Though that, really, shouldn't have been much of a surprise.  
  
He's a goddamn superman, she couldn't help but think, filling the silence that had arrived... with a complete lack of voices echoing in her headphones. She didn't bother to ask if the other agents were all right. She knew that they were unconscious, if they were lucky, or more likely dead.  
  
It seemed odd how little it troubled her that her fellow agents were in peril. She had one focal point. That was him. No matter what else may be providing distractions, she couldn't lose sight of him. If only she could find him again, she'd be certain to do just that.  
  
It felt as though only minutes had passed since she'd arrived in the airport, apprehensive about the search and disguised so... well. It seemed like only minutes. So when the disembodied voice came over the speakers she froze in shock. It couldn't be, not already...  
  
Yet the message was repeated.  
  
"Flight 54 is now boarding at gate twelve."  
  
**********  
  
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Clarice said to herself, scarcely aware that she was speaking aloud until she got a response.  
  
"Spur of a moment kinda thang? Yeh, yeh, I gotcha. Had m' own love trouble few y'rs back, chased th' boy all th' way off't Tahiti! Tahiti. T' bad he couldn' be goin' there, eh?" the woman standing behind the counter replied, as she handed over a boarding pass.  
  
Clarice took it with a faint smile, and ultimately tuned the lady out. The boarding was just about done, but she had been in time. She'd managed to get a seat. She felt completely dazed as she was hurried onto the plane by the flight attendants into coach... it was no surprise that Dr. Lecter wasn't back there. He would undoubtedly be flying first class, anything else would be an assault on his senses.  
  
"I'm flying to Paris," she whispered to herself, quiet enough so not to disturb the other passengers. She just needed to work out in her mind exactly what she was doing. Why she was doing it. "I'm flying to Paris, chasing one of the FBI's ten most wanted. No one knows where I am. I don't have my phone." She paused in her analyzing for a moment, before adding one last thing. "And I'm afraid."  
  
There, probably the most difficult thing she could admit to herself.  
  
She just wouldn't analyze what it was she was afraid of.  
  
Yes, leaving it at that seemed perfectly reasonable.  
  
**********  
  
This flight did not get off to a good start. That would seem to be expected seeing the circumstances, but it got even worse.  
  
The movie playing was none other than Titanic. A fine movie, sure, but when one is in a plane one does not exactly want to see films featuring large transports sinking, falling, crashing, or doing anything else that a transport oughtn't do.  
  
Not to mention that the meals were up to the usual airline standard, and because she felt as though she were still on duty she couldn't even indulge in a small glass of wine.  
  
It wasn't pleasant. But the hours went by, as they tend to do, and Clarice managed to interest herself in the movie for awhile, to stop her thoughts buzzing around in her mind until she couldn't make heads or tails of them. On-screen Rose and Jack were sharing one of those many touching moments... and after a moment she realized that it was just about at the end, judging from how blue they both looked.  
  
It was right when Rose was pushing her frozen lover off the wooden plank that Clarice became aware of his presence behind her.  
  
Not Jack's.  
  
His.  
  
She remained perfectly still, staring at the TV screen, as he silently slipped into the empty seat beside her.  
  
It almost gave her a thrill that she was able to predict his next words, that she knew exactly how they'd sound, and what inflection he'd give them.  
  
"Hello, Clarice."  
  
Yes, that was the opening line in all their encounters, and he always said it the same way. That small hint of a hiss at the end of her name, as though he were loath to finish speaking it.  
  
"Hello Dr. Lecter," she said in return, as calm as if she were meeting an old friend at the supermarket.  
  
"Such a surprise, meeting you here. You can't imagine my pleasure when I saw you in the lobby... though I must say, Clarice, black hair doesn't suit you one bit. I'm glad you ditched the wig, I was almost concerned that it might be rabid."  
  
Clarice couldn't help but give the faintest hint of a smile at that. Her thoughts had tended in the same direction as well, when she first saw her 'costume'. That her wig might still be alive.  
  
She could feel him smiling as well. She didn't look over at him, she hadn't since he sat down, but she could feel his lips curving, and she could feel his eyes moving over her face.  
  
We begin to covet the things we see everyday... don't you feel eyes moving over your body... and don't your eyes move over the things you want?   
  
That brief snippet of their conversation flashed through her mind but for an instant, but it distracted her so that she almost didn't hear the next words out of the doctor's mouth.  
  
"You know, I believe that's the first time I've seen you smile."  
  
Damn him, Clarice thought to herself as the smile slipped from her lips.  
  
Yet that didn't seem to help. She could still feel him being amused by her, sitting there at her side. "Now, why so tense, Agent Starling?"  
  
Oh, because you're a cannibalistic madman that I'm supposed to be arresting, but instead I'm sitting here watching Titanic and listening to you making chit-chat, she thought. But she didn't say it. Her mind was racing too quickly for anything intelligent to come out, and so silence seemed the best approach to take.  
  
She knew he'd get to the point eventually. The catch. The purpose behind this twisted game he'd been playing with her.  
  
But he didn't say anything.  
  
Old Rose dropped the heart shaped necklace into the water, and watched it sink down... down...  
  
She felt the tear rolling down her cheek. Down... down... down...  
  
Luckily it was the cheek away from him, where he wouldn't be able to see it. She really didn't want him to know the uncontrollable emotions that he inflicted on her, even with the most innocent of statements. Just by coming close.  
  
It was just stress, after all.  
  
She heard him shift in his seat, so that he could lean over and place his lips next to her ear.  
  
"I'm going to go back to my seat now... Clarice. I just wanted to tell you that now is when the decision must be made. There's no going back after this." He paused for a minute, and she felt him smile again. "And you're looking very well tonight."  
  
Then he was gone. It was eerie, the ease with which he'd just... vanish. Melt away into the shadows. Or into first-class, as the case may be.  
  
But Clarice was left as she was, frozen, trying to hold back tears. She didn't even know why she was crying. She had been through worse psychological damage before, when encountering him. It seemed such a small thing to make her cry.  
  
She looked across the aisle, finally moving, to glance towards the first- class section.  
  
Her eye was caught by a middle-age woman, sitting just a couple rows away. She was in tears too, and gave Clarice a smile of understanding.  
  
She whispered across, "This is my favorite movie too."  
  
Clarice felt the tears falling freely, with that. Suddenly the decision was quite clear indeed. She knew the choice she had to make.  
  
She just didn't know if she could make it.  
  
********  
  
Author's Note: I know, I took a long time again. Evil bad Potatohead! But you're all darling, being so patient with me, and not trying to make me into hash browns or anything. Yay! Okay, thanks go out to LadyOfTruths, troesnaja, SJ, chameleon302, DianaLecter, Samantha Bridges, zara, Satai Nad, Horserider, dear dear Steel, Hanniballover1181, dear dear Nanci, Shattered Mug, and whisper! Eeee! Lots of people! And I adore each and every one of you. Every time I get a review it gives me a sudden spurt of inspiration. You're all darling for sticking with me this long! Ooh, and enjoying it, too! That makes it even better ^.^ Now... bumbumbum. What will she decide? What is she deciding? Will she survive the rest of the trip to Paris without spontaneously combusting? Will she survive, period? Next time... 


	8. Chapter Eight

8  
  
Memories. They're really taken for granted most of the time. Understandably, since they just sit quietly and peacefully in the backs of our minds until we with to call them up. They're docile, and unobtrusive. Most of the time.  
  
Clarice, however, was suddenly bombarded with flashes from her life, zaps of memory that lasted no more than a few seconds before moving on to the next scene.  
  
Her father peeling an orange with his broken pocket knife.  
  
Her father's funeral.  
  
Making it into the F.B.I.  
  
Getting her first case.  
  
Meeting him.  
  
Him.  
  
Her father.  
  
Her teachers.  
  
Him.  
  
Him.  
  
He was always there. In her mind.  
  
The montage of her life seemed, after a moment, seemed to cycle through her father, her training, and him. The whole episode couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes. Her life flashed before her eyes, highlighting every painful and gut-wrenching moment she'd had to endure through her years, every death of a loved one, every tough decision, and through it all there was him. Breaking in periodically, with the memories she had of him. Perhaps her most vivid.  
  
Meeting him.  
  
Speaking with him.  
  
The first phone call from him.  
  
Getting put back on his case.  
  
Hearing his voice when she expected Pazzi's.  
  
Knowing he'd been in her house.  
  
Seeing him outside the mall.  
  
Waking in that dress.  
  
The confrontation.  
  
The kiss.  
  
"Oh god," Clarice whispered, burying her face in her hands as a wave of nausea hit her.  
  
What she was considering went against everything she'd ever believed in in her life. It went against everything her daddy told her, everything her mother told her. It went against her training, her instinct, her mind, her sensibility. But she wanted it. Acknowledging that some dark part inside herself actually wanted it left a foul taste in her mouth, she could feel her stomach churning, and her tears felt hot on her cheeks.  
  
Perhaps it was the crying that gave her a degree of control. She cried only rarely, and never where she might be seen. Above all else she needed to be strong, particularly at this point in time where now her life was in jeopardy, in every way that truly mattered.  
  
She rose shakily from her seat. She managed to keep her balance, and not vomit at the same time, which she took as a fairly good sign.  
  
The credits for Titanic were still scrolling down the screen as she slowly made her way towards the front, towards the first class. Towards him. Though she had not decided, and she didn't know what she'd say when she got there. But somehow, staying where she was seemed intolerable.  
  
*********  
  
Clarice wasn't used to the elegance of first class. She'd never had the means to fly first class, and even if she had she probably wouldn't have. She'd have felt like a fraud, a common little country girl pretending to be someone important and sophisticated.  
  
She felt that way then, making her way up the aisle, keeping an eye out for the stewardess to make sure she wouldn't be hampered in her journey.  
  
Dr. Lecter would, of course, have to be sitting as far from where she was as possible. All the way forward, and on the opposite side of the plane. She spotted him straight off. It was difficult not to, he sat with much more elegance than the rest of the passengers slumped in their seats, most drunk from the convenient free champagne that they'd been drinking throughout the whole flight.  
  
She felt peculiarly like she did when he'd had her drugged with morphine. The world seemed to be swimming in front of her eyes as put one foot in front of the other, slowly narrowing the distance.  
  
She stepped on someone's foot. They were drunk. They didn't notice.  
  
Neither did she.  
  
Dr. Lecter didn't seem at all surprised when she sat down beside him. He simply closed his book and set it aside, and waited. He didn't speak, didn't take the initiative as he so often did, but waited, as he didn't have any idea what Clarice was about to say.  
  
Neither did she, unfortunately, until she started speaking.  
  
"My whole life I've played by other peoples rules," is what she said, her voice soft and still a bit shaky. "I've lived by my father's rules, I became a law enforcement agent, I upheld justice, law, and order, and tried to live the life that was stolen from him."  
  
She paused to consider what was coming out of her mouth, and wasn't sure if she ought to laugh or cry. It sounded like something the good doctor would be saying to her, not something she'd be saying about herself. She didn't know what to think. And he stayed perfectly silent.  
  
"I lived by my mother's rules, too. I did everything I could to be respectable. I bought nice clothes, a nice purse. Eventually nice shoes, and a nice car. I never got married because she taught me to wait for the perfect man, and I've only had the occasional fling for the same reason. I lived by the rules of my employers, my friends, my neighbors, my roommates, even my goddamn Safeway clerk... everyone's rules but my own."  
  
Still he didn't speak. The continued silence from him just made her continually uneasy. Anxious. The knot in her stomach kept getting pulled tighter despite her attempts to relax, and she was all too aware that it wasn't long until they were going to land.  
  
"In fact..." Her voice broke, and she had to stop for a minute. He wasn't even looking at her. Just looking straight ahead, without expression on his face. "In fact the only time that I've gone on my own rules is where you were concerned, Dr. Lecter. You're a murderer. A monster. A criminal. My life has been devoted to catching people like you. But every time we've met... would you at least do me the courtesy of looking at me while I'm pouring my guts out to you, Dr. Lecter?"  
  
That snap at least managed to break the silence he'd been maintaining, even if it was only a few words spoken as he turned to look directly at her. "Forgive me."  
  
Clarice nodded. She opened her mouth to finish what she was saying... and made the mistake of meeting his gaze. He was watching her with that single- minded, unblinking gaze that was his trademark, and once caught by those eyes she found it perfectly impossible to continue what she was saying. Perhaps he realized that, as he finally had mercy on her, and spoke in those even silk-soft tones of his.  
  
"You want to be loyal to your mommy and daddy, Clarice... but you have to decide if being loyal to them is being loyal to yourself."  
  
She found herself not wanting to listen to what he was saying. She tried to tune him out. But tuning him out is all but impossible, once he gets in your head.  
  
"You have to decide if all your daddy's morals are going to make you happy, if his evidently noble beliefs are yours as well."  
  
Her fingers began to tighten on the armrests, though she didn't notice. She started breathing faster, her jaw was clenched, and somewhere along the line she'd forgotten to continue blinking. But she didn't notice.  
  
"It's your choice. Are you to be Clarice, or Agent Starling?"  
  
It hurt. In books you can always read about someone feeling physical pain from something mental, but it had always seemed like nonsense... like knees knocking, or teeth chattering from fear. Even when grieving for a family member, all the agony was in her mind. But right then, at that moment, Clarice could feel an actual ache starting in the general area of her spleen then radiating outwards. She could feel him opening his mouth to say something else... but she'd had enough. She was done. Before he could get a word out she rose, and made halting progress back to her coach seat in the airplane, in the hopes that there she could collect her thoughts, and regroup.  
  
**********  
  
Paris. City of romance. When the plane landed rain was pouring down from the skies, in a picturesque romance novel type style. It was ironic. Under other circumstances it might even have been amusing, but the knot in her stomach was enough to keep everything perfectly solemn in her mind.  
  
When she stepped off the ramp and into the airport there were dozens of people milling around. Some were speaking French, some English, and there was a group off to the side that were speaking what sounded like Arabic. She didn't notice a single one of them, she only took the time to glance across each person in turn to see if it was the one person that she sought.  
  
She found him waiting by the door, outside of the airport area, through customs and whatnot, just standing and staring out into the rain.  
  
When she reached his side he didn't turn to her. Not until she spoke.  
  
"I've chosen."  
  
Then he turned, to look on her with that intense gaze. "Yes?"  
  
But Clarice spoke not a word.  
  
Her mouth was otherwise occupied.  
  
She kissed him, tentatively putting her arms around his neck, though she felt ridiculous as she did so. She couldn't stop her mind from whirring, spinning around in spirals and circles, drawing the same conclusions over and over in different ways for different reasons, but never being quite satisfied. She couldn't help thinking of the fact that the lips she was kissing were lips that had touched, so many times, the flesh of other human beings. She was kissing the mouth that ate Paul Krendler's brain.  
  
But then Hannibal Lecter responded. He kissed her back. She felt the same warmth she had the first time their lips had touched, when her hair had been trapped in a refrigerator door. She felt the same tingles crawling along her skin as when they first touched, that brief touch of their fingers when he passed her the file folder. Then she felt something else, something she hadn't quite experienced for a long time... she'd gotten close on occasion, but not for many years had she felt it.  
  
She felt happy. Truly happy.  
  
She made her choice.  
  
She was Clarice.  
  
She was his.  
  
~Fin~  
  
**********  
  
Author's Note: Woo! A convoluted ride, eh? Thank you all for sticking with me! I hope you enjoyed this last chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Um. I think it's a bit different than the way I usually write. Hope you like it. Wait. Said that already. Ooh, the euphoria of finishing a story! Yeah! Whee. They're together! I briefly considered having her betray him, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Sniffle. Happy. Okay! Yay! Done. I can't believe the response I've gotten on this! Thank you all so so much, everyone that's ever read this fic. But more specific thanks go out to Steel, Allegretto Emily, troesnaja, SJ, Samantha Bridges, luna, Raija Darknight, Nikita, Nanci, LadyOfTruths, Shattered Mug, Horserider, chameleon302, Cloudburst2000, and HuntedRose. I love you! 


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